Turned Into Water Andfled Away - 6 Poem by Seshendra Sharma

I sat down one morning
Tanking shelter beneath the shade of a Jacaranda tree which flared up into millions of blue flowers
My mind a winged animal flew into the blue shadows which enveloped the city of Madagascar -
The blue, blue colours, dropped along the dreamy streets by the old wounds of its opulent body, led the mind into the mysterious lands of Malaya, into elementary labyrinths of the African soil, into the subterranean psychic depths of those dark continents populated by black dances of the mystic gods, filled with ravishing clouds of smoke, spat out by growling incense of oriental censers; Phantoms of all hideous forms and faces leaping out in multitudes from the hoary throats of native drums -
The vibrating world of inanimate and animate things behaving like music subjugated and controlled by the subtle power of the word, the whole thing a fantastic world of bizarre shapes where myth, mystery, marvel, savage blend and create a dizziness of other - worldliness. The smoke creeps and crawls craftily into the cores and niches of my modern brain, builds a whole metropolis of hypnotism.
Somewhere in the yonder depths of the sky a solitary cloud floats, resembling a silver island where colonies of green parrots migrate… there my fancy perches, like a cottage and I like a lost fisherman sitting by a lake with my net thrown in it, to capture the moon floating in its waters; the waters of the lake resembling the light of dawn seen by me in dreams
Like fresh leaves from mere branches, at the touch of my breath, words acquire feet, and countries and countries of nymphs and mermaids sleeping in sitars, flutes and mridangs wake up and descend into the subconscious world thronging to celebrate festivals of springs. Some beauties of inexplicable pains spread like dense massive forests;
In those forests even a stone is a stone is a dreaming object.
My corporeal being caught as a prisoner in the reason of my age, I lost all pleasures of air travel that the craft of my memory confers on me. But my animal converting all the reasoning of generations of creation into intuition carries the golden load with me in my endless journey from womb to womb.
If I am solidified, I am a physical body with a form and a name
If I am liquefied I am a flow of memories
I am not present where I was, and I am never where I I am
The sundry gods give you theories, I give you wine
Come join me and get drunk with what I offer
And wander in the sky like winged gods